Whistle in the Wind
by Hugo V
Summary: Spike is obsessed with Dawn, but clear-minded enough to understand his feelings are due to a love spell. Can he keep himself away long enough to find a cure, and the culprit who hexed him? Short answer: no. *Set during season 6 - more M rated than T*
1. Monster Mash

**Author's Note: I felt that BVS' best pairing was between Dawn and Spike, as strange as it sounds. **

**I own nothing, literally nothing. I'm writing this from the local Chic-fil-A's back alley on a wooden laptop. All credit goes to Joss Whedon and his affiliates.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 1**

It was embarrassing, wrong, and painful, what Spike was feeling, but as he knelt on his knees and watched over a tombstone at Buffy, his gaze shifted left of her to the person who had tagged along. Painful? _Blissfully _painful.

Dawn was out on a rare excursion to the graveyard, most likely for training.

That hair, the color of an autumn morning, flowing gracefully about her bust. Below that, her neck, slender and white as newly fallen snow. Well, mabye not newly fallen, but close to newly fallen, Spike corrected.

And that nubile young body had such subtle curvature, it would have struck him breathless if he needed to breathe. Dawn was... sixteen, or seventeen, he reasoned, not _too _young for him? And what did he care anyway! He was evil.

Spike knew his sudden lusting after the other Summers sister was artificial, his vampire senses told him so. A love spell was the culprit, no doubt. But still, it didn't stop him from gawking, and as he stared dreamily onward, fists on his chin and head tilted slightly to the left, a sudden rustling snapped him harshly back to reality.

It was coming from beneath him, a sort of hollow rippling.

"Oh hell." He groaned before scuttling to crouch behind a different grave.

Continuing to look with detached interest, Spike watched as a hand, then another, shot forth from the soil. Following these was the rest of a light-weight vampire who smelled of embalming fluid and sulphur.

"There!" Yelled Buffy, pointing. The recently undead gentleman gave a perplexed expression, as if to say, "Who? Me?" A pointed glare responded in the affirmative.

"Remember Dawn, like I said, the power belongs to him." The slayer continued as her sister approached warily, fright evident on her face. Her stake close by, Dawn circled the target, occasionally doubling back in some odd attempt at obscuring her path.

"Ah-ah!" The battle-cry uttered was enough to send Spike, still undercover, into fits of barely restrained laughter, cut short when the vampire turned to place the new sound. This opening was enough to allow Dawn to dust him without much trouble, bones and ash blowing away in a warm Californian breeze. She gave a crackly laugh that made Spike delighted to know he had some part in causing it.

"Nice work." Buffy smiled, obviously proud; a pat on the back was shared. "You too, _Spike._" She added shortly afterwards, less pleased.

The jig was up. "Y'got me, slaya'." He resigned, standing up to full height before a quick brush off. Bits of cut grass fell to the ground around his black shoes.

"How long have you been watching from there?" She questioned, unamused and showing it.

"Long enough t'know that the little bit here has some kick."

"I should know, I taught her." Buffy retorted, wondering why the conversation was taking so long to get to any kind of point.

"Most of it comes naturally though, ain't that right?" Spike bared his teeth in a devilish smirk to which Dawn averted eye-contact, flustered.

"Is there something you want? Or can we have permission to leave." The petite blonde hissed with unusually pointed malice, though Dawn and Spikes hesitant glances at each other were enough to give any mother-figure cause for aggression.

"Nothin' brewin' tonight." He finally said, breaking the tension. "Hope you and the niblet get home all good 'n safe."

Just as suddenly as he had arrived, Spike vanished into the night and back to his crypt where all that waited for him was a miserably vacant, but elegant, bed and the static screen of his overused television. _Passions _was on and he found himself, strangely enough, the least bit caring.

On the long but pleasant walk back to their home, Buffy and Dawn played with some easy conversation that bounced around subjects neither one of them was comfortable talking about, and after a few short minutes they ceased to speak at all. Their silence was made bearable by the evening's balmy air.

"Buffy? Why are you so mean to him?" Dawn questioned, focusing on the rhythm of her feet as they both rounded into Revello Drive.

"Him?" She replied, knowing the answer but still choosing to ask.

"Spike, it's not like he's ever hurt us. In fact one time-"

"Dawn, he's dangerous and completely devoid of morals. Do I have to say more?"

"But he has a chip now."

"Just because he _can't_ bite people, doesn't mean he wouldn't." Buffy said with that sage-like 'wisdom' so many others seemed to respect, but Dawn herself loathed. "And besides, why do you care?"

"He still has feelings."

"The murder-y, pillage-y, rape-y kind?"

"Buffy," Dawn began, exasperated, "you can be really close-minded sometimes."

"I fight the forces of darkness Dawnie, my mind is never closed." She smiled as the conversation grew a great deal less serious. Arriving at the house brought welcome relief as they parted in the upstairs hallway, illuminated with the moon's blue glow.

"I need a shower." Dawn pouted.


	2. Keeping Tabs

**I don't own Buffy nor any of Joss Whedon's affiliates. **

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 2**

To Spike the night was still young, and since most of his sunnier days were spent inside that grey, confining crypt, he found his feet moving upon their own accord towards none other than sixteen-twenty Revello Drive. It would bore into him the next day if he didn't exhaust all of the current ones opportunities.

He looked up at the night sky, not especially beautiful for the stars were shielded by an accumulation of rainclouds whose payload began to gradually empty onto the pavement below. Circular marks were made of a darker shade.

"Can't a guy catcha' break." Spike moaned inwardly, lifting the back of his leather coat to protect the precious hair atop his head when things started to pick up.

Rainy nights were awful; rainy _days _on the other hand allowed him to walk freely about Sunnydale - as he pleased - for twice the amount of usual time.

Guilt rose like an ocean's tide within him: one moment on its way out, and the next falling back inwards stronger than ever. "Been spendin' too much time around Buffy," Spike reasoned aloud, "she's makin' me go soft."

Her house came into view a long minute later, rivulets of water sliding off of its roof and into brown-green drains below.

Even Spike had common sense enough to know that knocking on the door at such a late hour would be overstepping boundaries that hardly held in the first place, so he instead decided to seek refuge underneath a tall, sturdy tree whose leaves granted relief.

That evening's downpour eventually decreased, and at length Spike had climbed his shelter and reached a thick, protruding branch that ran closely to a side window. So near, he was, that the inside was clear to him.

Obviously a ladies bedroom. _His hopes began to rise. _Lots of stuffed animals._ There began a welling in his chest. _And then... Dawn herself, the blue-eyed goddess, stepped in wearing only a thin white towel. _There was, _Spike decided then and there, _no word for that kind of unbelievable luck. _

"Who am I to argue with fate?" He whispered playfully, the beginnings of a grin apparent.

Much to Spike's chagrin, Dawn had went to change just out of frame and left the towel wafting to the ground as a reminder of what he could be seeing if only his old friend _fate_ had moved the branch just... a little... closer.

What seemed like an endless eternity of hours passed before the object of Spike's affection returned, but definitely not in the manner he was expecting (i.e. girly pajamas and poodle hair-clips galore.)

Instead, Dawn wore something shockingly different.

A skirt - so short it made _Spike_ uncomfortable - hung to the top most part of her milky thighs; black and white lacing weaved intricate patterns in the space allowed between the waist and legs, which was promiscuously little.

Above that, which was less of an article of clothing and more of a horizontal sash, was an entirely exposed midriff, flat and taut.

Spike held a needless breath as his widened eyes trailed further upwards to a halved red tank top that sank low enough to reveal ample cleavage. Twin hills of pale pink sent shivers coursing through the voyeur's motionless body, but the moment was fleeting and he knew the route she'd use to escape.

Slinking silently to ground level, the vampire hid in wait and listened a while until he heard Dawn begin clambering awkwardly onto the branch. He could only imagine how adorably clumsy she looked at that moment, and it took every ounce of strength in his body not to take a quick peek.

"Eep!" The young girl partially yelped, partially whispered through her teeth. She had taken a small tumble and was in the middle of ineffectively kicking her legs at the air to get a nonexistent foot hold, hands holding on for dear life to what once was a perch.

"Oof!" Dawn had dropped. Standing back up, she picked at the grass caught in what meager scraps of clothing she wore, huffing something about how she was never going to get it clean again, and what _he _would think.

That, unsurprisingly, was the word that caught Spike's attention. Who was this _he_? A sharp twinge of jealously found its place in his side, and what once was a predatory smile turned simply predatory.

Before his thoughts became less clouded, Dawn had already reached the end of the street in something similar to a run, but which more resembled a newborn horse trying out its legs for the first time due to her choice of stilettos.

Spike ducked and moved between bushes in response to the younger Summers' constant vigilance, and found it more difficult to discretely follow her than he had previously considered. Of course with Buffy as a sister, it was no wonder she worried about getting caught, and in _those _clothes?

Trepidation began to creep up on Dawn's pursuer as she entered familiar territory: one of Sunnydale's twelve cemetaries - more specifically, _Spike's _cemetary. On his way through the gated threshold he had spotted two or more vamps on the plots perimeter, figuratively holding their breath for a tasty morsel like her to strut by.

Luckily enough, one was looking in another direction and the other had his nose in an old _Green-Lantern _comic book.

As if she were suddenly a different woman, Dawn's hips began to sway in such a mesmerizing flow that Marilyn Monroe would have been put to shame. Either a broken heel or death wish, Spike decided, but found himself more dumbstruck than articulate.

Dawn wasn't exactly one for thinking ahead, but it still surprised the stalking vampire to see her knock on the heavy metal door to his own crypt.

That smile from before came back as if it had never left.

_I'd better take the back way in._


	3. Soon, You'll Need a Man

**I don't own Buffy, nor any song of Neil Diamond's.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 3**

"H-hello?" Dawn's voice was timid and didn't carry very far from the crypts mouth. Inside was quiet, but not peaceful by any means. Calm, but frighteningly shadowed. The evidence of a man's living wasn't concealed, namely shown in beer bottles and stray bits of clothing scattered about like an undershirt or belt.

What horrified the visitor most was a stretched pair of orange panties sitting under the leg of a chair, surely some sign of a recent conquest - at least she hoped. Another interesting sight was that of an overturned black cauldron, its contents newly stained upon the floor.

Foreign smells pervaded different areas of the tomb, each corner distinctly Spike-like. The worn after scent of leather was topped only by a strong cigarette smoke odor, his alone.

She took a moment to herself, basking with closed eyes and an open nose.

"I adore the get up, love." Spike drawled, his accent loose and airy. Dawn masked her surprise with a tame smile, refusing to show any sign of what she perceived to be childishness as she turned to him, sitting cross-legged on an altar.

"Thanks, thought I'd see you here."

"It _is _where I live." He responded slyly; she was new to the game, the vampire wasn't. "Mind if I put on some music?" Spike questioned before wondering why the hell he needed to ask permission in the first place.

"Be my guest!" Dawn snorted in a nerdy way, hushing herself up to try again. "I mean... _Be my guest._" The wink was almost audible, with sultry undertones so unpracticed they came off sounding more threatening than anything.

Spike, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely, and had his eye on enjoying her as well. "Got just the song." He gave a toothy, private grin, fiddling away at his shoddy stereo system and wondering why the reason was he never bothered to steal a new one.

"So why'd you swing by?" Spike spoke up, taking more time with the unreliable machine than he had predicted.

"Oh, lots of reasons..." Dawn began, with little intent to finish. A disc whirred to life within the player as its owner cranked up the volume; a song by Neil Diamond began to play.

_Love you so much can't count all the ways_

_I'd die for you girl and all they can say is, _

"_He's not your kind..."_

_They never get tired of puttin' me down_

_And I never know when I come around_

_What I'm gonna find,_

_Don't let them make up your mind,_

_Don't you know-_

"I like this one. Who's it by?" The young woman asked, dancing around an obvious elephant in the room. Her hips began once more to sway side to side with the changing beat.

"Peter Gabriel, I think."

"Don't you know?" Dawn stifled a giggle at nothing especially funny.

"Don't care." Spike casually retorted. "Girl..." Never a singer, the vampire began to do exactly that. "You'll be a woman... soon."

_Please come take my hand,_

_Girl, you'll be a woman soon,_

_Soon,_

_You'll need a man-_

"I met Peter Gabriel one time, back in the nineteen seventies. It was always him and that bloody flute, it was. A bit off, in hindsight, ol' Peter."

_I've been misunderstood for all a' my life_

_But what they're sayin' girl just cuts like a knife,_

"_The boy's no good..."_

_Well, I finally found what I've been lookin' for_

_But if they get a chance they'll end it for sure, _

_Sure they would-_

The air around them was stiff with a mixture of hesitation and action, Spike giving himself over in the way he approached. Dawn put up no fight, instead extending her arms around the blonde vampire's neck as he closed the practically magnetised gap.

"If this gets me staked-" He began to warn, only to receive a slender finger upon his lips, its nail painted black.

"Shush, we're _just," _Spike dropped his forearms to the small of the girl's back, his palms massaging in a circular pattern over unclothed skin just above where her skirt started, "dancing." Dawn visibly shuddered, mouth parted.

"What d'you think Buffy would do if she found out we were... dancing?" The vampire inhaled with delight the sweetness of his 'dance' partners perfume. _The bit really does go all out, _he grinned.

"Oh I dunno..." Dawn turned so that her back pressed against Spike's front, her neck craned as if she was tempting him with more than just carnal pleasures. A roll of her waist only served to increase the mounting fervor as their bodies fit tightly together, undulating to song's fast-paced guitar riffs. "She'd probably freak out, like always."

Then, very placidly, Spike asked: "Were you the one who cast a love spell on me?"

"Who, little old me?" Dawn replied without skipping a beat, literally.

"Yeah."

"Nope! You got the wrong gal." There was that tone again, Spike gritted his teeth, that 'seductive' tone, or at least what the girl thought was 'seductive' but always ended up offputting.

"Stop talking." He demanded dryly, surprising Dawn; she quickly recovered.

"I'm sure you'd rather hear me scream."

Spike smirked, still holding her from behind. "Why I neva'..." He said with playful innocence, pressing close enough to feel Dawn's body-heat, her soothing warmth against his own cold form.

A flurry of repositioning later had Spike pressed against a stone wall, arms placed at his sides where the girl had pushed them. She was completely in control, or as much as the vampire allowed her to be; he figured that was all she wanted, a little say over how things were done.

"Damn - at least buy me a drink first, platelet." Spike chided, raising his hands to her face which furrowed with strong determination. "Am I still talkin' to the same person? If you're possessed and I-"

Dawn lunged forward, bending her right knee to situate a forceful kiss, if the average definition of a 'kiss' was 'mashing your lips confusedly onto someone until they open up.'

"-do this." He spoke into her eager mouth.

It didn't take long for Spike to willfully fondle back and drive their embrace deeper, if only to get rid of the niggling idea that he was being raped by Buffy's kid sister.

_Yeah, I want this, _the vampire chuckled, _just didn't expect to get it so bloody fast._


	4. Agony and Ecstasy

**I don't own Buffy nor any of Joss Whedon's affiliates.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 4**

It'd all happened before time was given to think, consider, reconsider. Spike had lifted the girl - more than a century younger than himself - onto a cold stone altar and plowed her senseless.

Intertwined with lust they clutched at one another; people made of straw with their seams about to burst was, in all honesty, what they were.

Morning had come but his thoughts were preoccupied with the night before, and oh what a night it most certainly was.

_Dawn licks and bites at his neck, a feral reflection of Spike turned red with passion. Red. The color of her face when he entered without asking twice, hands gripping and prodding and forcing her to moan his name, making them both cry out in harmonious ecstasy. _

Spike wondered why he wasn't in unbearable agony, fists clawing at his brain to make the pain go away; he hurt her beyond repair, scarred any future of being normal. That was the kind of torment that lasted.

_The vampire makes her his wind-up toy, twisting limbs and watching the muscles flex beneath to sate odd, repressed desires. He tears at her hair which bunches in closed fists, a subconscious want to scare her away but it fails to work and they're at it again, once more, twice more until life is nothing but a mesh of white. _

She was half-under the sheets, partially exposed, her pale pink collarbone illuminated by candles whose wicks were never extinguished. Spike arranged himself in a more comfortable position, tracing the contour of her shapely waist with his unreadable blue eyes.

_He has no idea how they manage to climb the ladder downwards into his chamber but they both end up there anyway, still embracing in a desperate bid to hold on. The sweat is Dawn's alone but he loves the feel, the vibrations from her throat as he nips at it send him spiraling inward. Nothing had ever made him yearn so powerfully: for one more slip of tongue, one more thrust, one more handful - just one more._

There was no longer any guilt, which greatly pleased Spike to the point where he was fine with leaning back and feeling cocky over his recent accomplishment. He had slept with Buffy's not-so-little-anymore sister, and what was she going to do about-

"Spike?" A voice rang from above him, not venomous per usual but full of concern. "Where are you?"

The vampire in question shook Dawn awake and began to yell in a hushed voice, face contorted with a mix of fright and amusement. "The big bad is here...!" His partner grinned - eyes closed - still basking in stale after-glow. "Get on the floor bit...!"

She wearily complied, crawling over the edge at a snail's pace before landing on the floor with an _oof _noise which, to Spike, was frankly adorable; a trail of as many sheets as she could grab followed in her wake, producing a small, cozy mountain ideal for lounging upon.

Buffy scaled the ladder's rungs until she reached the bottom, taking in the sights of a massively wrecked room. Portions of pottery and even demolished furniture littered a large majority of the ground, every square inch holding something that was supposed to go elsewhere.

"Lovely of you to stop by, slaya'." Spike said a bit too hurriedly, eternally reprimanding himself for blurting. Buffy furrowed her brow, confused.

"Was there a fight I should know about?" She earnestly asked.

"Yeah, there was."

"And you just..." Buffy paused, sniffing the air; a sheepish second passed by before she shrugged off whatever was bothering her. "I wanted to know if you've seen Dawn. Have you?"

"Hmmm..." Spike sarcastically pondered, a hand on his chin. "Think she might've _come _by last night." He said, an imperceptible accent layered on just thickly enough to elicit soft giggles from his bedside.

"Where'd she go." The slayer snarled with a squarely taut jaw.

"Said somethin' about staying at Xander 'n Anya's, nothing I'd have a clue about." Buffy had stopped paying any attention, her focus instead towards identifying an illusive scent.

"Have you been having sex?" She raised an eyebrow at the same time Spike did, one of them looking disappointed and the other aghast.

To his horror the giggling from before broke out into fits of nasally laughter quiet enough to be implacable, but obviously feminine. Spike's interrogator crossed her arms and shot a withering look at the relaxed vampire, barely straight faced himself.

"I don't even want to know... or see... or _ugh. _Tell me if she comes by, okay?"Buffy moaned, leaving without so much as another word but what could be categorized as indistinct guttural noises.

After enough time passed to deem the situation safe, Spike outstretched an arm and tapped Dawn's shoulder, lingering on her shivering skin. Shivering. A quick pull landed his lover back into the bed where she could lay in bliss, earning him a look of appreciation.

"G'morning, pet." Spike whispered briskly, his and Dawn's noses close enough to touch. He had never seen her like this before, it was always _Dawnie _with a backpack and books; what once was a girl had been replaced by an outstandingly lithe sexual deviant - it'd be a lie to say the vampire, in all his corruption, didn't enjoy corrupting others.

_The battle for dominance rages on as they pry at one another, seeking access with such ruthlessness that dreamy sighs starkly contrast the burning. Her calves are loosely perched upon his shoulders, quaking with each pound as he plunges deeply - without mercy - into her virgin frame and she squeals at a deafening volume. _

_ It lasts for long, exhausting hours that diminish and replenish the lovers' energy; neither one of them wants to be the first to end it, so they continue unabated. _

_ Dawn is aggressive, almost more so than Spike as she teaches him the true definition of "rapture." Climax after climax, no falling action in sight with stamina like that. They take turns pleasuring each other until even the softest of brushes sends bolts through their sensitive bodies, sore with the roughness of overexertion. _

It was the best sex he'd ever had or will have in his entire unlife, the vampire decides without much consideration. The content expression on Dawn's face as Spike watches her sleep reassures him that she had similar thoughts on the matter.


	5. Magic Boxing

**I own neither Buffy nor any of the show's affiliates.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 5**

Though he was inclined to distrust the girl, Spike could not bring his love-struck self to take Dawn at anything but face value when she had denied knowledge of using spells. The younger Summers was in a mess too well orchestrated to be done by amateur hands, so only four possible suspects were left.

Willow, being the erudite she was, had more than a strong grasp on casting, cursing, and hexing, but no real motives to support doing any of those things to the vampire. On top of that, her and Tara were parental figures to Dawn, and would die before putting her in harm's way.

Giles was immediately etched out in Spike's mental list under the reason: too much of an old, boring sod. The ability was there, but like Willow he had no discernible reason for using that kind of magic.

Xander was at the forefront of his mind before categorizing the others. Definite motive, and some proficiency at ritualistic practices since he'd seen them performed before. He had both access to supplies via the Magic Box and time enough to read up on the necessary practices. Still, he'd said on more than one occasion that Spike should stay away from his friends, being specifically overprotective of Dawn.

Anya was Spike's final guess in the mystery that was his emotional lockjaw, fitting the part quite well. Socially maladjusted was the ex-vengeance demon's principle trait, so she might be liable to use charms without forethought. Plus, the two had been placed on shaky ground after the whole 'sex on a table' incident.

_And! _Spike blinked, _she got really angry over the bit's kleptomania fiasco. _A scowl shaded his features. It was still daytime, but something this important was of highest priority. _No better time to pay the gal a visit. _

A half-hour before the vampire's analysis, Dawn had inched stealthily back into her house to change clothing and prepare for the apocalyptic wraith Buffy would surely be doling out in an hour's time.

He almost felt sympathetic for the poor girl, and would if not for the day's pressing matter: the interrogation of Anya Jenkins.

Within the bustling Magic Box, customers paced to and fro between shelves full of mystical artifacts - many of whom disputed their status as genuine. Giles, by means of near-constant supervision, had received a splitting headache in return for his troubles.

Anya was perched at her register, gleefully ringing up items before packaging a select few in teal gift-bags. Her gigantic grin was authentic, if not a bit intimidating.

In need of a short break, Giles sat himself down at a table and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly numb from all the constant coming-and-going.

When a gap formed in the rush of visitors, Anya stepped breezily over to where the British man was trying to rest, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Busy day, huh." She said, still smiling.

"Very true." He responded in an attempt to keep word output as low as politely possible.

Relief from Anya's oblivious nature came in an unexpected form, specifically that of Spike's under a heavy brown blanket; white smoke rose from beneath, along with several European slurs.

"Oh. Look who it is." Giles murmured glumly, mirroring Anya's frown.

It took Spike a minute to toss his sun shield to the side, but when he did the look on his reddened face meant business. Neither of the two shop keeps were very impressed.

"I have a reason for comin' here." The vampire began, seeming in no more friendly a mood than his company. They glowered a minute, waiting for him to continue. When no move in the conversation seemed near, Anya asked:

"And that is?"

"I'm gettin' to it." Spike snarled, still not very threatening. Eternity stretched out in a minute as he meticulously chose the following words: "You cast a love spell on me."

"We don't have time for your ridiculous accusations." Giles interrupted, rising from his seat; his normally calm demeanor twisted bitterly. "Anya did nothing of the sort."

"My problem doesn't concern you, manly man." Shot Spike, his mouth an open smile. "We need ta' talk."

"No we don't." Responded Anya in a way peculiar enough to turn Giles' head. Not so much nervousness - as, strangely, ease - was clear behind her tone.

"Yeah, we do." The vampire childishly replied.

"No we don't." She repeated in a steely voice before taking a customer's order at the counter. Spike felt a surge of frustration, glaring at the woman who wouldn't give him the time of day, let alone any honest answers.

Anya put on an interested face as she listened to the buyer's many questions, giving complete descriptions on every object he wished to purchase; Spike was taken aback at how much she knew about twelfth-century Byzantine "ruddlebanks," amongst other things that required long-winded explanations.

Gathering herself, the ex-vengeance demon bit her bottom lip and checked to see if the pursuer was still pursuing. He was - staring broodily at the scene with disinterest.

When an opportunity to slip in presented itself to Spike, he did so, jamming his shoulder in front of a commendably patient man who shrunk back without a passing comment.

"I asked you a question. Did you or did you _not _put a love spell on me?" Something about the vampire's tone told Anya that even though he would be subjected to immense agony, it wouldn't stop him from throwing a punch; on top of that, no pain would come from vandalising her store. She liked her store; it was hers.

Anya pouted while Giles, on the other hand, had stopped giving a damn.

"Giles!" She shouted, but failed to rouse the dozing Watcher.

"Let 'em nap, this is between you and me."

The bell above the Magic Box's door chimed, something not especially interesting seeing that it was a popular day of the week to shop. Still, had Anya and Spike chose to look towards the entrance they would not have been caught so off-guard.

"Spike?"

"Xander?"

The vampire's brain went into overdrive as he tried without success to gauge his last meeting with the man-child: was it on good terms? - or bad ones? His internal problem was solved by a strong right hook to the jaw. Reeling backwards, Spike landed flat on his ass, than shoulders, than feet again in an impressive display of agility.

Bad terms then.

He couldn't blame the boy, though, for catching him trying to quite obviously - and rudely - smack down on his one-time lady friend. _Tosser, _Spike thought.

"Tosser." He said.

Giles, not quite in dreamland, muttered something about 'going for the solar plexus.'


	6. Tail, meet Legs

**I don't own Buffy, nor any of Joss Whedon's affiliates. **

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 6**

"Listen up, bud." Spike had expected the words to come from Xander, but instead it was Anya who now, very angrily, seethed. "You don't just waltz in here and expect me to play along with your stupid little games. This is a place of business, _my _place of business with many paying wallets and if I have to make an example of you to let them know-"

She pointed towards the few "wallets" who hadn't immediately retreated to the doorway; they were foolish not to do so.

"-that I'm not going to be messed with, let the gods above tremble because _I most certainly will!" _Spike started to speak, but stopped himself, thinking it a bad idea. Every passing second she advanced on the vampire he reversed himself, approaching the outside at a quickening pace.

Xander grinned, crossing his arms.

"I didn't cast any love spell on you, nor would I ever. It would be a waste of _my _time, speaking of which, get out!" Anya shoved Spike backwards onto the sidewalk before slamming the door shut.

He picked himself up before thumbing the lapels of his coat, suitably embarrassed - and also burning. "Blanket!" Spike's cry fell on deaf ears. "BLANKET!"

The door reopened long enough for it to be thrown carelessly next to him; scrambling to cover his toasting body, Spike snarled.

If only to avoid dealing with Anya again, the vampire retired his idea that she was to blame. All of the remaining culprits seemed unlikely, indicating that solutions were to be found elsewhere; Spike dejectedly took the short route back to his crypt, muttering curses aimed at the Scoobies.

Back in the Magic Box, Anya let go a sigh of exhaustion, she herself succumbing to Giles' enemy: sore feet. Evening had just begun to settle, as did the effects of a hard day's work. Still, she remained awake and alert for any late-afternoon customers.

When it seemed that none were planning to visit, Anya took a seat besides Giles and continued an uninteresting conversation with Xander until reaching its natural conclusion. Before long they had all left to their separate homes.

All in all, it was the most uneventful Saturday they'd had in long time.

At the Summers residence, Buffy patiently waited by the entrance for Dawn to return from an outing with friends. She began her sitting at five o'clock and lasted till seven, only ever checking the clock once out of sheer curiosity - boredom did not enter the equation.

Willow had been too occupied with moping to notice Buffy's strange behavior; she lounged on her bed, dismally sifting through memories of her and Tara together before the whole 'overuse of magic' predicament tore them apart. Jaggedly.

In an obliterated high-school's basement, the eyes of a tiny gold cheer leading award lidded wearily in mental preparation for another few years or so of waiting.

This is not important to the story.

A blue sedan drove down Sunnydale's strip, it's worn-out motor making sounds comparable to a muffled firecracker; it's chassis was so dinged, dented, and multi-hued with different colored paints, that anyone who looked upon the car immediately took mercy on the poor soul to which it belonged - and no doubt would perish without an inspection sometime yesterday.

Bethany had her hands on the wheel while Dawn relaxed in the seat beside her, absentmindedly gazing out of the window at passerby.

Grinning giddily, Bethany looked over. "Wow, we actually-"

"Yep." Dawn interjected.

"-without paying!" She squealed, bothering her calmly composed friend. It was the first time they'd been out on the town together, and the younger Summers wasn't in any mood to be nice, or lawful - or _good. _

Dawn had gotten in trouble with Buffy before on the topic of shop-lifting, but her party with Spike had dug up buried urges.

Bethany sifted through their earnings, keeping an eye on the road ahead: she herself had managed to pocket two cheap necklaces and a pair of jade earrings. Curious about her partner's catch, she asked.

"Nothing too big, just a present for my boyfriend." Dawn replied in a frosty tone, turning over a modest silver chain.

"Dawnie!" Bethany cheerily shouted. "I didn't know you had a BF!"

Ignoring the childish nickname, she smiled. "Yeah, I do. Why don't we stop by his place for a second? I can introduce you."

Ecstatic with the idea, Bethany vigorously nodded. "What's his name? Where does he live?"

"Just around the corner from here." Dawn smiled, eager to see her lover for the second time that day.

The time was nine fifty-five when Buffy had finally begun to worry - laying on the couch in her living room did nothing to alleviate stress. Her sister's curfew was seven, and the two hour gap only lengthened in correlation with Buffy's fear that something horrible had happened, was happening, or would happen.

Buffy needed reassurance that she was overreacting; for someone to say, "It's just a teenager thing." But Willow was acting the recluse upstairs and, without a way to contact Bethany's parents, she had no other choice but to resign herself to worriedly pacing.

Earlier that afternoon, the elder Summers had found Dawn's risque clothing under the 'innocent' girl's bed - what had been a hunt for mothballs turned ugly. Deciding that a stern approach was the best tactic, Buffy set up post on the landing, devising a way in her head to sound intimidating sans the oppressive part.

She felt personally humiliated, disappointed, and worried.

A few hours later, 'worried' was all that lasted of the three.

No longer content to sit by and hope things were alright, Buffy called up to Willow.

"I'm going on patrol! Be back soon!"

The witch, who had heard this and chose to ignore it, promptly stuffed her face into a scratchy pillow and bawled her eyes out for no other reason than it wasn't Tara's non-scratchy shoulder.

Concerned for her long-time friend, but more for her little sister, Buffy left without another word into the chilly, unwelcoming night. Cold: a bad omen, she thought. Everything was, in her state.

Meanwhile, two salivating vampires followed in hot pursuit the trail of their prey - Bethany and Dawn - as the pair carelessly weaved towards a crypt through rows of tombstones...


	7. Call Me Irresponsible

**BVS is owned by Joss Whedon.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 7**

Dawn was the first to notice them, stalking silently over the shortly cut grass behind her and Bethany. Both were tall, lanky specimens with more head than body, but she knew their intentions as well as the good that fighting back would do: hardly any.

Not wanting to frighten her cheerful friend, Dawn smiled, keeping her eyes forward and ears open. "We're almost there."

"Ooh! I can't wait! Er," Bethany paused, concerned that her eagerness sounded nerdy in front of Dawn's suave nature, "I mean, yeah, graveyard - that's chill." The younger Summers reluctantly compared the stammering redhead to her once immature self.

The sound of footfalls behind them became heavier with every passing second, prompting Bethany to turn out of curiosity - but not before Dawn took her hand and yelled: "Run!"

Vampire one grinned with the excitement of a new chase; vampire two followed suit, working to gain ground on the now fleeing girls.

Dawn bounded onto a tombstone laughing, then off again - still dashing - much to Bethany's horror as she felt her own feet losing speed under the restraint of untied shoelaces.

Noticing this with wet lips, vampire two split off from his fellow hunter to pursue the slower target whose panicked eyes only served to strengthen his appetite. Dawn on the other hand was untouchable, leaping from ground to marble with practiced ease.

Bethany fought to regain ground to no avail, tripping over herself before plunging head first into the dirt. Vampire two readied her for drinking as vampire one continued after his own prey, eager to catch up but not succeeding.

A firmly placed kick to the mouth sent vampire two spinning backwards as Bethany scrambled to escape, gathering enough force to propel forward and out of harm's way. Giving up his hunt, the first vampire halted in place, put his hands on his hips, and sighed, only to be shoved aside by a very flustered, speedy young woman.

Reaching Spike's crypt at last, the two girls pried open the rusty vault door and shut it tightly behind them, pressing against it with their heaving backs. Bethany tried to say something but the air caught painfully in her throat.

"I-" was followed by a pant, "I- What. Huh?" She shriveled her nose in equal parts deliriousness, excitement, and confusion. This made Dawn giggle, which forced Bethany to do the same.

Spike, who had up to that point been deducing not only the mystery of his love spell, but life itself, climbed the ladder upwards from his cozy catacomb intent to be as visibly impatient to his new guests as possible.

"Oh," his grimace was replaced with a villainous smile upon noticing Dawn - as well as her tag-along. He immediately made his way across the floor and met the younger Summers halfway, taking her around the waist.

Bethany scanned Dawn's "boyfriend" up and down, side to side - she failed to accurately label him. Peroxide-blonde hair, leather jacket over a red and black undershirt, eyebrow scar; something told her the man who was now fiercely kissing Dawn had some form of parental issues.

At the moment, 'third wheel' didn't do her position justice.

"I got you something." Dawn managed between dreamy sighs. Spike paused only to ask what it was before running his lips along her neck. She pushed him away with an imploring grin, her hand on his stony chest.

"Look, see." A hand snaked its way into the cut of her shirt, pulling a long silver chain out by the clasp.

Bethany twiddled her thumbs.

"Good choice, pet." Spike growled, sincerely admiring the jewelry. He leaned forward so as to be forehead to forehead, his eyes burrowing deeply into Dawn's as she fitted him around the neck with a quiet _click; _her tongue playfully mimicked the noise.

Three knocks upon the door shattered the atmosphere, both relieving and startling Bethany who expectantly looked towards it.

Another pound echoed throughout the room before Spike made his way to the entrance, angry to be interrupted. Outside the tomb waited a pair of vampires, frothing - not the least bit intimidated, he scowled through the iron grating.

"Spike? Man, hey." The first vampire said in a friendly manner. "So me and my bud here saw some girls a few minute ago, he thinks they may have, y'know, tried to hide with you." This earned an elbowing from the second vampire.

"And?" Spike asked, his tone biting. Bethany stood frozen in place.

"We were wondering, man, if we might be able ta' share-"

"Get outta here before I dust you." He snarled. Vampire two was close to busting when vampire one took him by the shoulder, shaking his head 'no.' They made off back into the night, hungry and frustrated.

"Hi, I'm Bethany." She squeaked, regaining her composure. Spike examined the girl without any flicker of emotion, wordlessly scrutinizing her. Feeling threatened under the pressure, she shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm Spike." His response was drawled - Dawn could nearly feel how much he enjoyed dragging things out, raking her friend through the brambles with his locked stare.

"Nice place...?" Bethany's comment sounded more like a question.

Much to the vampire's continued annoyance, there came another knock at the door. He directed Dawn and Bethany to hide away for the time being, cracking his knuckles against each other as he approached the crypt's opening for what promised to be the final time.

Spike snapped a toppled chair's leg off into his fist, plying the end into a sharp cliff-like edge with the fingers of his other hand. Steeling himself, he swung open the door, drew back his arm, and-

"Buffy?"

He could smell adrenaline and sweat on her person, indicators of a recent fight; it wasn't difficult to figure out with whom. Buffy pushed Spike's hand out of it's motionless position in the air then slid inside.

Still flabbergasted, the words, "wait, no, don't come in," never issued from his mouth as he wanted them to, and before he had a chance to speak, she did first.

"Hello, Spike."

"H-hello." The vampire said as evenly as his terrified body would allow. He had hoped to avoid Buffy after the morning's close call, wary to accidentally give anything away about he and her sister's blossoming affair. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Expecting somebody else?" Buffy asked, inspecting his rudimentary weapon; quickly discarding it, he pushed his shoulders back and jutted his chin. This attempt to say "You're not welcome," told her nothing that she hadn't already known - Spike slumped, thinking of how easily Dawn could be discovered, and him, subsequently staked.

"I wasn't, jus' surprised to see you here is all. Speakin' of which, why _are_ you here?"

"Just out on patrol, thought I'd stop by to make sure you weren't chomping on anyone behind my back." Buffy lied, her word choice forcing a nervous cough from the uneasy vampire. She knew about his chip, but the excuse seemed valid regardless.

"Thanks, g'bye now." The bluntness of his answer, sans witty retort, made her suspicion grow. Bethany standing up to introduce herself did nothing to help the situation's cloudiness.

"Hello! I'm Bethany." Followed by, "I love meeting new people."

Spike shrugged in response to Buffy's nonplussed look.

"Dawn? It's okay to come out now!" The redhead chirped, meaning well.

Spike cringed under the frigidness of Buffy's glare.

**If you have an idea of where this story is going, tell me so in the reviews. :) Who hexed Spike, how will Buffy react, is Dawn's love a futile one?**


	8. Monster Mash part 2

**I do not own Buffy nor any of the show's affiliates.**

**Discretion is Advised**

**Chapter 8**

Buffy sifted through all of the possible responses in her mind, but seeing Dawn struck her speechless; the air was dense enough to turn the scene rigid as a photograph. Spike's own body refused to turn around, so he stood defiantly as possible with weak knees and wide eyes.

"I-I can explain." He ventured, asking himself 'how' inside of his head.

More silence followed, too thick to penetrate. Bethany felt a creeping feeling that she had done something horribly wrong, and thus retreated into herself with a step in the opposite direction of Buffy's vacant stare.

Dawn had done a better job, approaching at a creeping but steady gait towards her sister, a look of pure disdain pointed sharply ahead. Motionless, Buffy followed her indecipherably.

"Let me just-" Dawn began.

"You were supposed to be back at the house hours ago." Buffy coldly interrupted. "You were supposed to be back at the house and you weren't, leaving me worried sick. And now I find you here. With _him _of all people."

Dawn's composure faltered for a brief moment.

"And what," She scanned her sister's clothing, "are you wearing." There was no disappointment in Buffy's voice, only thinly veiled anger. Dawn moved a hand to her partially bare chest, turning her head in shame.

"Now wait a second." Spike tried to reign the situation in, promptly giving up upon seeing Buffy's wordless scowl. He quickly regained his courage. "Leave the bit alone - only came by to check up, jus' like you."

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear." Dawn added fruitlessly.

"Not done talking." Buffy growled. Bethany, having never met the blonde, assumed that she was either about to murder everyone in the room or not-so-quietly judge them all to death - a painful one. "I found your shirt and skirt, under your bed earlier today. What's wrong with you?" Buffy's sincerity stung Dawn enough to stir up tears.

"How was I supposed to know where to find you? If you were in trouble I wouldn't be able to help. But it seems that trouble doesn't need to find you, Dawn, you find it." She spoke. "Him."

The younger Summers pulled her top up and bottom down in an attempt to conceal, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Spike, noticing this, intervened by cutting in front of Dawn. Bethany could almost see their metaphorical horns being locked.

"Get _out _of the way." She warned. In response, Spike brushed Dawn further back with an outstretched arm as if his opponent were some sort of wild animal. "You're beginning to piss me off, get out of the way." Heat welled beneath Buffy's skin, her senses sharpening with each passing second in preparation for a fight.

"No." He said, arms crossed in a show of immense bravery.

"What did you say?" She encouraged, leaning in. The second 'no' had barely been uttered before Buffy swept forward, placed her hands stiffly upon Spike's shoulders, and hauled him sideways into one of the crypt's hard stone walls with a loud crash, knocking over an array of extinguished candles.

He collapsed to the floor with a broken rib, clutching at this chest in agony but making no sound. "Buffy!" Came Dawn's gasp of shock.

"Don't 'Buffy' me, we're not done here." She said, immediately assuming that Spike would no longer interfere with the definite verbal whooping she was about to dish out. Ignoring the growing pain in his side, he grasped at a support, finding one in a rocky outcropping. Gathering himself, the vampire pulled upwards.

Though Buffy noticed this, she gave no sign of caring. "Home." She ordered to Dawn, reaching out to clutch at her sister. Spike reentered the fray by pushing once more between the two women. With the same steely indifference as before, she elbowed him aside, striking the place where his rib had departed.

Hissing in pain, Spike showed no signs of giving up, matching Buffy's fiery eyes with his own cold ones. "Leave 'er alone."

"No, _you _leave her alone. You're lucky that I'm not the sort of person to jump to any conclusions, otherwise you'd be blowing in the wind; if you so much as look at my sister again, let alone," Buffy shuddered, "_touch _her, you'll wish I'd killed you."

Unimpressed by her tirade, the vampire gave no ground. Clearly she didn't know the extent of his relationship with Dawn, otherwise he doubted that she would be so merciful as to give him only one broken bone.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming." The younger Summers gave in, entirely too exhausted to do anything but press by Spike and into the strongly guarding arms of Buffy.

He knew there was no longer any sense in shielding Dawn, not if she was too weak or tired to back him - at least for the night, anyway. In less than a second the Summers sisters had vanished, leaving Bethany and Spike in each others company.

"Er...?" The redhead shrugged, coughing to fill the vacuum.

"You can go." Spike replied, heading back down into the bottom level of his crypt via ladder. She shifted her weight for a second, looking for an exit among the uniform walls, then left having found it.

The confrontation between Buffy and Spike had been much different in the vampire's head. In five out of ten instances she killed him right off the bat: stake, burning, decapitation, lots of holy water, or a very large cross. Two hypothetical situations had him revealing his and Dawn's affair, and the other three were the success probability of different escape routes.

Lounging on his bed, Spike shuffled through these thoughts without having ever considered her (albeit, less than nonviolent) walking out. Still, he was thankful for not being reduced to itsy bitsy molecules.

It had been a long, tiring day - the busiest he'd had in ages. Spike threaded his fingers through his platinum blonde hair before sighing. A lonely hand snaked its way towards his new necklace, clutching tightly enough to hurt.

_Far, far away, an enamored young man with a lisp wondered the reason for his love spells failure. Was it so wrong to want his psych teacher to fawn over him?_

**THE END**

**Author's Note: I know that it's a lazy way to end the story, but all motivation for continuing was eaten by angry plot bunnies. It's cliffhanger-y but alas, finally done. Spike is lovelorn, Dawn is separated from her beloved, and Buffy is acting the overprotective bitch (which even I thought was just a bit out of character in its extremeness.) Anyway, hope you enjoyed. :)**


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